


A little rivalry never hurt anyone

by Baryshnikov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Asexual Tom Riddle, Dom/sub Undertones, Jealousy, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Lestrange Sr, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Pining, Plot if you squint?, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 16:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18101858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov
Summary: Abraxas wasn't honestly sure how petty rivalries turned intothis, but that didn't mean he was complaining.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BethHur](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=BethHur).



> This has been sitting on my laptop for ages now, and because the internet was down all day I decided I'd actually finish it, and post it before I regret it.   
> I really have no excuses, either for the length of this or for what it actually is. To be honest it's just an incredibly self-indulgent fic expressing my love for these three, so sorry about that.

It was always painfully obvious when Lestrange had been with Tom. It was written all over his face, from the self-satisfied smirk at the corner of his mouth, to the confidence with which he walked into the crowded common room. There were other signs too, other less obvious signs that people had to know about to see. It was no secret that neither Lestrange or Tom were gentle people, and unsurprisingly putting two violent and somewhat unpredictable individuals together, did not create a peaceful solution. So, it was hardly a surprise that Lestrange was always bruised: black and blue, purple and green, sometimes even yellow, smeared all over as if he were a canvas and a toddler had been let loose to paint it. It wasn’t just bruises either, it was also unexplained scrapes and scratches and half-moons embedded into his skin, not to mention teeth marks, although Abraxas didn’t get to see them so often, not unless he caught Lestrange straight after a shower, when he was still wrapped only in a towel looking far too good. Abraxas was sure Tom’s body was similarly littered with violent anointments of affection, but he couldn’t confirm it, because where Lestrange wore his marks as personal victories, Tom preferred to hide his away and maintain the fragile illusion that there was nothing untoward going on between them. It didn’t really matter though, theirs was a secret that everybody already knew but didn’t dare to mention aloud. 

Today was one of those days where Lestrange had got what he wanted. Abraxas couldn’t say he hadn’t been expecting it, Lestrange had been on edge for days, snapping at everyone, hexing without a second thought – he was like an exposed nerve, frustrated and unsatisfied, just waiting for all the momentum that was building up inside him to be released. It would be, as soon as Tom allowed it, which was usually after quidditch practice.   
Abraxas himself didn’t play, he never had, and he only watched when he absolutely had to, like when he had been going out with Yaxley, the Slytherin team captain, and he’d had to go to every practice. It was awful, well Yaxley wasn’t, she was gorgeous, it was Tom and Lestrange who were unbearable. Tom doing his utmost to wind Lestrange up, just because he could, twisting something inside him just by looking in his direction. Tom made absolutely sure Lestrange was never paying attention to whatever Yaxley was saying, and he would grin with satisfaction whenever Lestrange was reprimanded. So, in return Lestrange resorted to subtle violence, never enough to be caught, but certainly enough to be irritating. Just digs of his elbow into his side, flying a little too close, deliberately getting in the way when Tom was about to do something impressive. It was always the same, friendly jibes turning quickly to vehement aggression, glares and shoves, and any excuse Lestrange could seem to think of to have his hands all over Tom. In many ways, it was strangely erotic to watch them constantly at each other’s throats, always just a couple of seconds from eating each other alive in front of everyone. But Tom would never let that happen, he wouldn’t give people the satisfaction. That didn’t mean everyone didn’t know exactly what happened after practice, knew that as soon as they were all walking back, Lestrange’s arm would snake around Tom’s waist, and Tom’s hand would be on the back of Lestrange’s neck, and they’d disappear for a while. Later Lestrange would reappear, calm, appeased, and reset back to zero, and always smeared with evidence that whatever he had been doing was less than innocent. 

That was exactly what had happened today. Lestrange had come in, his hair still damp from a shower, and a smug smirk plastered all over his face. The only time Lestrange ever made that face was when he’d had Tom and now wanted to rub it in Abraxas’ face, because, somehow, and Abraxas suspected Yaxley had a bigger part than she was willing to admit, Lestrange had worked out why Abraxas always stared at Tom for a few seconds too long. He’d been so smug when he’d announced to him a couple of months ago, Abraxas had glared at him then and continued to glare at him until this day. It wasn’t like he was the only one who stared at Tom, everyone did, he was gorgeous. Gorgeous in the way he commanded the room, and gorgeous in his features. He had a face that was universally attractive and features sharp enough to cut your fingers on, and Lestrange had discovered that was exactly what Abraxas wanted to do, more than anything else in the world. Which was why he was still smirking as he sat down opposite him.   
“What do you want?” said Abraxas not bothering to look up, it would give Lestrange the satisfaction of feeling important.   
“Oh, nothing much, Malfoy,” Lestrange said ever so casually, as he ran a hand through his hair, tucking a couple of loose strands behind his ear.   
“Care to get lost then?”  
“Not particularly,” Lestrange said, making himself more comfortable, which included stretching out his legs and putting his feet on top of the parchment Abraxas had been writing his transfigurations essay on. Abraxas glared at him, “can you not?”  
“Well I could, but where would the fun be in that?”   
That was how it always went with Lestrange, somehow, he knew exactly how to wind everyone up, and had absolutely no qualms about doing it.

Abraxas left the common room and instead went to sit in the library. It was late and the sun was just setting, meaning not only that the library was empty, but that it was also nice to be in for once. Not dark and cold and draped in shadows, but actually warm and pleasant to work in. Well pleasant until he heard footsteps, and someone, he assumed, was Lestrange sitting down opposite him. He was surprised that it had taken Lestrange this long to find him, but that didn’t mean it was a pleasant surprise. Lestrange coughed and tapped his nails, and without looking up Abraxas snapped. “For God’s sake would you just fuck off.”  
“Excuse me?”   
Abraxas looked up, it wasn’t Lestrange but Tom sitting opposite him.   
“Oh sorry,” he said, not daring to let his eyes hover for too long on Tom, lest he never stopped looking. Tom looked back at him, calm and collected as always. “No matter, I garner it wasn’t meant for me, was it?” he said still tapping his nails slowly on the wood.   
“No.”  
“For Lestrange?”  
“It doesn’t matter,” Abraxas said, he would rather not discuss this particular argument, especially not with Tom, who usually seemed to be the basis for _all_ their arguments.   
Tom raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. “I was wondering where you were, today,” he said eventually.   
“Here, finishing this,” he said picking up the now finished essay and waving it a little as if to demonstrate something that simply didn’t need to be demonstrated.   
“You usually write those in the common room.”  
“Well I didn’t feel like it today,” he said, still avoiding Tom’s eyes.   
“Well as you’re done, care to come back with me?”  
He nodded and packed away his things, after all, it wasn’t like he could hide out in the library all night, and Lestrange was usually somewhat placated by Tom’s presence. Normally, he’d be thrilled to get to spend a few minutes alone with Tom, but today he couldn’t quite bring himself to be.   
They did walk all the way back together though, sharing a comfortable silence and a respectable distance between them. Well, almost all the way back. Tom stopped unexpectedly just outside the open door to the common room. Through the gap, they could see Lestrange, stretched out and taking up far more than his fair share of the sofa. He was the only one who could see them, and only if he looked up. Tom came very close to him them, definitely too close for two friends to be, especially when one of them was otherwise entangled with someone who was notoriously hot-headed. At that moment, Tom knocked the door lightly and very deliberately. Lestrange had leaned lazily over to look at the sound but was now staring, mouth open a little, somewhere between shock and disbelief. That didn’t seem to deter Tom though, only encourage him to lean in, pressing his body into Abraxas’ and smiling.   
“You know, you should ignore Lestrange. I know he can be quite – irritating, but he simply isn’t worth your time,” said Tom, his hand gently brushing Abraxas’ hair from his neck in a way far too intimate to be merely friendly. “Remember that, won’t you?”   
Then he was walking off, not even looking at Lestrange as he passed him to sit down with the others.   
Abraxas didn’t join them, he knew there was absolutely no way he would survive Lestrange staring at him like he wanted him dead and would probably be willing to kill him if they were left alone for more than a minute.


	2. Chapter 2

Lestrange’s glares had not been confined to that evening. He had continued them at breakfast, watching him murderously over a piece of toast, cutting the crusts off, how Abraxas imagined he would like to cut his throat. Not that it was really his fault that Tom had got so close, or that he’d been flustered and flushed and had disappeared embarrassingly quickly to the dormitory afterwards. Really if Lestrange wanted someone to be mad at, it should be Tom, not him. Not that he was going to say that. In fact, he tried to avoid Lestrange, stealing only the occasional glance to check that he was still glaring. He almost always was. Lestrange was nothing if not persistent, and he glared at him all day, and all evening, and then all of the next day.   
During every class, that day he watched him, face drawn into a scowl, and fingers twitching with annoyance, quite ready to unleash any of the great many hexes he knew in the hope that at least one of them would render him significantly debilitated. Lestrange’s only problem, and what Abraxas supposed must be his blessing, was that they were never left alone. There always seemed to be some seventh year hanging around them whether it was Nott working on that final year paper, or Druella sprawled over Black’s lap, or even Tom sitting quietly in the corner reading. They were never alone, and as nasty as Lestrange was, he certainly wasn’t stupid. Slytherins didn’t attack other Slytherins it was simply the rules, and whilst Lestrange wasn’t one for following rules, he didn’t tend to openly flout them, especially not in front of several prefects and the Head Boy. So Lestrange glared and seethed and waited. 

Unfortunately, though, Lestrange was a true Slytherin, and he knew how to be persuasive, and Avery has always been useless at keeping secrets. That was how Lestrange came to be sitting on the ledge of a second-floor window outside the exact room Abraxas exited after private transfigurations tuition.   
“Malfoy, this a good time to talk?” he said hopping off the window and coming closer.  
“Lestrange,” Abraxas said in return, stopping because there was really no point in doing anything else, Lestrange had found him, and Abraxas was not enough of a coward to run away from confrontation.   
“How are you then? We haven’t spoken in a while,” continued Lestrange, still stepping forward, to the extent that Abraxas was now stepping back. Lestrange was taller than him, taller with broader shoulders, much more physically intimidating, much more imposing, the sort of dangerous that always made Abraxas’ stomach twist and his face too hot, and all his words to tangle in his mouth. So, he let Lestrange back him against the wall, and he revelled in every moment of it.   
“Do you know what you are, Malfoy?”  
“No.”  
“Shall I tell you?” He didn’t wait for Abraxas to answer before continuing. “You’re an absolute motherfucker. How fucking dare you?” Lestrange hissed, his mouth closer enough that Abraxas could kiss it if he wanted to, and he _did_ want to, he just wasn’t stupid.   
“Did I do something wrong?” he said, finally dragging his eyes away from Lestrange’s mouth, and instead up to his eyes. He tried to sound innocent but there was no way he could keep it up, not when Lestrange looked so good wound up. Looking so easily irritated, so likely to put his fist into the wall. God, he could see why Tom provoked him like this, it just made him feel so powerful.   
“Yes, you fucking did, and you fucking know it,” Lestrange said, his hand now resting on the wall beside Abraxas’ head, making them far too close.  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Abraxas, unable to resist pushing the boundaries of Lestrange’s temper just that little bit further. He could see Lestrange grinding his teeth and pressing their bodies close enough that it was bordering on inappropriate.   
“You can’t just take _my_ things,” he said, spitting the words out like each one had personally offended him. Abraxas smirked and leaned into the curve of his body, “since when did you _own_ Tom?”  
“Since when did you call him Tom?” said Lestrange, a new edge to his voice, though he made no attempt to move further away.  
“Since –”  
“This is a public corridor you know.”  
They both turned, Druella was standing, or rather leaning against the wall a little way up the corridor, she looked thoroughly unimpressed. “If you’re going to fuck, at least do it somewhere the rest of us don’t have to watch.”  
Lestrange stepped back marginally and Abraxas took the opportunity to tip his head back against the wall and breathe deeply.  
“What the fuck, Rosier?” said Lestrange glaring at her.   
Druella rolled her eyes, “oh come on, there’s no need to look at me like that, Lestrange, everyone’s been thinking it, I’m just saying it.”  
“Excuse me?” Lestrange repeated his tone a cross between disbelief and encouragement.   
“The two of you have been staring at each other like you’re a starving man looking at a three-course meal, _all_ week.”  
“I didn’t ask for an explanation.”  
“I was only saying.”  
“Well I didn’t fucking ask you to say anything, did I, Rosier?”  
Druella resorted to glaring and pouting, two things she did exceptionally well. “Fine, be like that. But I hope you know he’s playing you both for fools.”  
“Who is?” said Lestrange, though he didn’t step any further away from Abraxas.  
“Riddle, of course. I bet he’s having the time of his life watching you two face off against each other, both so desperate for his attention.”  
“Just fuck off Rosier,” he said, his hand back against the wall, and eyes once again heavy on Abraxas.   
“Of course, that’s just my opinion.”  
“If you still want to be able to have a fucking opinion by tomorrow, I suggest you fuck off.”  
Abraxas was honestly a little surprised that Lestrange didn’t hex her anyway, he seemed to be in the mood for it, but then he’d have to answer to Black, and perhaps he wasn’t in the mood to do _that_.   
They stayed there, watching each other, listening as her footsteps tapped away, and only after they were no longer audible did Lestrange get as close to him as he had been before.   
“Is she right, Malfoy?” he murmured, and it was obvious something in him had changed, all the excess energy that had been buzzing under his skin was now focussed, concentrated on a single unspoken aim. “Do you want to fuck me?”  
Abraxas licked his lips and looked at him, he could lie and say he didn’t, but Lestrange was good at seeing through liars.   
“Do you?” Lestrange repeated a little more doubt in his voice this time.  
“I wouldn’t say no,” Abraxas said, trying to sound nonchalant, but the words caught in his throat and came out a little strangled, and accompanied by a flush spreading up his neck. Lestrange swallowed, apparently unable to think of any clever retort to that. 

Abraxas knew it was a stupid idea, precisely two seconds after he kissed Lestrange, but by then he’d committed himself. That didn’t stop him pulling back and swallowing thickly though. Lestrange stared at him breathing heavily. Then he was pressing him against the wall and pressing their mouths together in a manner that bordered on violent. All the while dragging his spare hand up Abraxas’ thigh, pressing too hard into the hipbone.   
“You should have said something,” he murmured. It was a reaction Abraxas wasn’t quite sure what to make of, but certainly wasn’t going to refuse.   
“I did, didn’t I?” he said through gritted teeth as Lestrange ground their hips together in such a way that there was no doubt he could feel just how hard he was.   
“Sooner, Malfoy. You think I haven’t thought about what it would be like to fuck you?” he said, pressing his hand between Abraxas thighs and making him groan into his mouth.   
“How about this for an idea then: I’ll give you _exactly_ what you want if, you promise to help me with something.”  
“With what?”  
Lestrange clenched his fingers in a way that had Abraxas moaning embarrassingly loudly. “I don’t think you’re in the position to be asking questions, right now,” he said hot against his ear.   
“You’re cheating and,” he groaned again, “and when it involves Tom, I get to ask questions,” he said breathlessly, wanting Lestrange to both stop and never stop.   
“I never said it involved Riddle.”  
“But it does, doesn’t it?”  
Lestrange was going to reply, but they both heard footsteps. So, he reluctantly stepped back to allow a respectable distance between them as a hoard of first years came marching along the corridor. Lestrange checked his watch, “I have class now, we’ll finish this later.”  
With that, he was disappearing down the corridor, and Abraxas was left alone with a pounding heart, and the taste of Lestrange on his tongue. 

That night, several hours and one icy cold shower after their last meeting, Lestrange climbed onto his bed.   
“Don’t you have any boundaries?” said Abraxas, giving a quick glance to Avery and Nott on his left and right, neither seemed to be paying any attention to them. Lestrange ignored him, and instead ran his tongue along Abraxas’ neck, in such a way that was warm and wet and entirely inappropriate. Abraxas pushed him away, “what do you want?”  
Lestrange didn’t stop, and instead only said, “what’s wrong Malfoy, you wanted it earlier?”  
Abraxas batted his hand away, a little more forcefully, “maybe because Nott and Avery weren’t less than five feet away earlier.”  
Lestrange rolled his eyes but sat back.  
“Are you going to tell me why you’re sitting on my bed then?”  
Lestrange smirked, “I want your help.  
“With what exactly?”  
Lestrange dropped his eyes to the duvet and trailed a finger along Abraxas’ leg, “help me get back at Riddle for setting us up.”  
“For setting _you_ up, you mean.”  
Lestrange scowled but held his tongue.  
“How?”  
With that Lestrange’s glare quickly disappeared to be replaced with a smile, he leaned closer, “by tearing his fucking composure to shreds.”  
Abraxas looked at him, “and what has that got to do with me?”  
“Come on Malfoy, we all know you want to fuck him.”  
In the neighbouring bed, Nott choked on nothing and coughing loudly looked over at them.  
“Serves you right for listening into a private conversation, doesn’t it?”  
“It was hardly private, you haven’t even drawn the curtains,” said Nott still coughing.   
Lestrange rolled his eyes and hissed something under his breath, the curtains on Nott’s bed drew around him, “better now, Nott?”  
Nott didn’t say anything, and Abraxas watched as Avery hastily drew his own curtains.   
“What do you say then, Malfoy?”  
Abraxas swallowed, feeling Lestrange’s fingers heavy against his thigh, and his eyes simply smouldering.  
“Fine.”


End file.
